First, I would like to reassure anyone that was concerned about the horrifying state of my house/ children after my last post. I have cleaned up. I have cooked. The very next day, in fact. I have proof:
This is how we homeschool. No, my son usually can't keep his eyes open for a flash photo.
I cleaned the kitchen. Disregard the bulging cupboards.
I even baked.
Now, that you don't expect to watch me on 'Hoarders' this week, I can continue with my story. I got the idea to share after reading another blogger's post about the kindness she receives when pregnant. You can read it at Katydid & Kid.
Anyhoo...it got me thinking about how nice people were to me when I was pregnant and how lovely it was. But surely, I am not going to bore you with stories of people being kind to me. Nope, I got a better one.
When I was 8 1/2 months pregnant with my first child (13 long years ago), I went to the grocery store near my house one day. I lived in Rome, NY (my hometown) at the time on the 'wrong' side of town.
The trip went smoothly enough (as smoothly as it can in a dilapidated store with incredibly uneven floors, spotty lighting and visible filth). I just needed a few essentials.
Once in the very long checkout line, I was penned in like cattle at a slaughterhouse. On one side was the magazine rack on the other was a candy rack. As I stood scanning the tabloid covers about Sinatra's death
I felt the cart behind me hit me in the back. It pushed my big pregnant belly into my cart, shoving it into the old woman in front of me. I gave an evil glance over my shoulder ( I could never have turned around in the tiny space I had), but figured it was just an accident.
Until it happened again, with more force. This time I managed not to nail the woman in front of me, but my back and belly both took the blow and it was uncomfortable to say the least.
Turning slightly, I said, 'Hey, can you watch your cart? You are ramming me and I am going to hit the lady in front of me, too.'
No response, but I figured I had solved the problem and began debating the merits of having a Mars bar.
HE WACKED ME AGAIN!!
By this time, the lady in front of me was done checking out and it was my turn. Because she was gone, I had room to move my cart and maneuver. I looked at the cashier with a stupidly shocked look, to see if she noticed what was happening. If she did notice, her vacant expression and gum chomping did not show it.
I raised my voice a bit and said, "Why do you keep hitting me with your cart? It hurts!"
The friggin jerk snickers and looks around and says, "Maybe if you weren't so fat..."
I felt all the blood in my body rush to my face and if I hadn't been hugely pregnant, I might now be wearing an orange jumpsuit as a guest of the Oneida County Correctional Facility. What I did do was push my cart forward, pivot and face him and yell, "I am 9 months pregnant, you f-ing idiot!!"
You could hear the gasps. Everyone was riveted and they were looking at him like he was something distasteful stuck on their shoe. You could actually feel their collective censure. He mumbled a 'sorry' and left the store, but I couldn't calm down.
The thing that made me the most angry was not that he was assaulting my big pregnant ass with his cart, but that somehow people weren't at all concerned if he was assaulting a fat woman. The message, don't touch a pregnant lady, but feel free to ram the hell out of every heifer with the audacity to breathe.
I feel kind of wound up to this day when I think of it.
Why can't we, as humans, treat everyone like we do pregnant ladies? With kindness, consideration and friendliness, instead of the usual rudeness we often spew at strangers. It would certainly be a nicer world if we did.
Finally, I wonder if that guy ever showed his face at that grocery store again. I am fairly certain he didn't ram anymore 'fat' chicks.